


Don't Go Down the Stairs

by Stayawhile



Category: Eureka
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-20
Updated: 2011-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stayawhile/pseuds/Stayawhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2009 Halloween Horror Trope challenge at the Stark's Lab community on Livejournal.   Spoilers for 3.04 "I Do Over."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go Down the Stairs

Douglas Fargo was afraid of basements.  

Well, not anymore. Not really. He had done a lot of work with Beverly on the topic of basements, and had worked through his completely irrational phobia, developing an understanding of the roots of his fear. At age seven, he had committed a very minor, utterly insignificant offense against his sister Veronica’s Barbie collection (which was, in any case, completely justified). Barbies were made of plastic, so being buried to their necks didn’t do them any harm. It wasn’t his fault about the squirrels; how was he supposed to know they would chew on plastic?  

So it had been completely unfair and very, very wrong of her to lock him in the dark basement of their grandmother’s house and make those creepy noises through a hole in the floor. Still, he was over it. He was an adult. Being underground was almost no trouble at all.  

Except for the occasional nightmare.    

His phone was ringing, but something had to be wrong with it, because that was the ringtone reserved for Dr. Stark. He sat up and fumbled on his nightstand. When he flipped the phone open, a familiar voice barked out a command.  

“Fargo, get down here now.” The phone clicked off, and the next thing he knew he was on his way down the stairs, still in his pajamas and bare feet. It was one of the staircases on the lower level of GD, and the fluorescent lights were flickering, even though they had stopped using fluorescents years ago. At the bottom was a gray-painted wooden door with a scratched brass doorknob, and under the layers of paint were deep scratches from Caesar, his Grandpa’s Great Dane that had died when Fargo was six, but Dr. Stark had asked him to bring the documentation for the new clock to his lab in the basement, so he started down the rickety wooden stairs. He was fine, really, no problem, although his feet were cold, and then he heard a growl behind him and the lights went out and he tripped and as he fell he could hear Dr. Stark’s annoyed voice saying “Fargo, where the hell are you?” He looked up, and Dr. Stark was looking down at him, his head cradled in his left arm.  

“I’m IN THE BASEMENT!” he screamed, knowing nobody could hear him and nobody would come to unlock the door, and jerked upright in his bed, clapping frantically to bring the lights on. Okay, he was okay, and his heart rate was clearly higher than it should be, so deep breaths, deep breaths, in, out, in, out….  

His phone rang.  

Dr. Stark’s ringtone.  

For once he was glad he slept alone, because his hand was trembling as he picked up the phone, and he dropped it in his lap, and it kept ringing.  

When he answered it, no one was there.    

 

Carter shifted another box and sneezed. It was bad enough that he had to fly all the way down to L.A., on his first full weekend off in a month, to clear Zoë’s stuff out of Abby’s place. Now nothing was labeled, the basement was filthy, and he just knew there had to be toxic mold down here. Abby had promised to help, but of course she had backed out at the last minute, and the beer she’d left in the fridge was the cheapest crap she could find. He undid the cardboard flaps of the bottom box, hoping that it would clearly be full of Zoë’s old clothes or something so he could add it to the pile of things he was shipping back up to Eureka, even though he was pretty sure Zoë would wind up throwing out half of it anyway.   

Nathan Stark’s head looked up at him from the bottom of the box. “Carter,” it drawled sarcastically. “Took you long enough.”   

Jack stared into the box. Stark’s head stared back, lifting an eyebrow, and asked, “And why are you naked?”  

“Sheriff Carter, your heart rate is alarmingly high.” SARAH’s voice was concerned, and that was okay, because it meant he was at home, in Eureka, in his own bed.  “Would you like some warm milk and a mild anti-anxiety medication? Your vital signs indicate high levels of adrenaline, and your respiration is rapid.” Jack sat up, and grabbed his robe from the bottom of the bed.  

“Thanks, SARAH, but I really don't want to go back to sleep.” He trudged down the stairs, still more than a little creeped out. “Find me a baseball game, and beer me.”   

“I have seven thousand four hundred and six professional games recorded, Sheriff. Or if you would prefer a live game, the Yomiuri Giants and the Yokohama Bay Stars are currently in the third inning with a tied score.”   

He retrieved his beer and took a long swallow. “Sounds fine, SARAH.” The screen came to life, but before he could put his beer down, he sneezed hard enough to spill half of it on his bathrobe.”     

 

Jack finished the last of his third extra-large Vinspresso just as he reached Allison’s office. It didn’t seem to be helping. In the three weeks since Stark’s death, they had instituted a regular mid-morning meeting to keep him updated on Global’s activities . Allison was still wrestling with her grief, but she insisted that working helped, and the fact was, a place like Global Dynamics didn’t run itself. She was needed, so he and Fargo had tacitly agreed to shoulder as much of her burden as they could.  

“Morning, Jack. You look like hell.” Allison gave him a tired smile. Jack just nodded. He could say the same about her, he thought, but that wouldn’t be nice. Chivalry won out, and he simply tossed his cup in the recycling chute and sat down.  

“Yeah, had a lousy night’s sleep, and a really bizarro dream,” he said. She stopped tapping on the glass desktop and looked up. “What?”  

“I had nightmares myself. I’ve been up since four. God, I hope things stay calm today.” She pulled up the day’s schedule of high-priority tests and action items.   

Jack leaned back, closing his eyes. “As long as we didn’t dream the same thing,” he muttered. Then he sat up. Allison was staring at him. He stared back. “Okay, you first.”  

“Oh, mine was just another grieving thing, I think. Except more like a horror movie. I fell asleep on the couch, and then I heard noises from the basement. It sounded like someone shouting my name. So I grabbed the fireplace poker and started down the stairs, and it was Nathan’s voice, except it kept getting further away as I got deeper and deeper into the basement, and he sounded scared.” She laughed bleakly. “My house doesn’t even have a basement.”   

Jack shifted nervously on the leather sofa. This was sounding like exactly the kind of Eureka weirdness he hated most, and he was way too tired to deal with it. “Sounds creepy,” he stalled. Then he took a deep breath and told her his dream, leaving out the part where Nathan’s head hadn’t actually been attached to his body.  

“This really is creepy.” Alison got up from her desk and began pacing. “Seriously, major-league creepy. Is it cold in here, or is it just me?”   

Jack rose to his feet, shaking his head. “Trying not to focus on the creepy aspect. Did anybody pick up that dream research Suenos was working on? Are we part of any random test group? It’s got to be something at GD.” He leaned against the glass desk, inadvertently sending a notice about flu shots to everyone on Level 3.   

“What’s something at GD?”   Allison and Jack jumped, startled. Allison emitted a small squeak, while Jack growled, “Don’t DO that, Fargo!”   

“Sorry! Sorry, really sorry, and sorry I’m late, overslept.” Fargo did look a little rumpled, and more nervous than usual, Jack noted, and apologized in turn for snapping.  

“We’re a little on edge here,” Alison explained.   

“Is there a situation?” Fargo asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose and sitting down.  

“Don’t know yet,” Alison replied. “Everything seems calm here so far, but Sheriff Carter and I had very similar dreams last night, and after that whole shared dream situation a couple of years ago, that kind of coincidence is just a little unnerving.”   

Fargo dropped his head. He had a very bad feeling about this. “Um…I really hope this is a stupid question, but…” He stared into his lap, not wanting to say it.   

“What, Fargo?” Carter was annoyed. Get it over with, Fargo thought.  

“Did your dreams have anything to do with Dr. Stark…and a basement?”    

 

Allison had run through the list and shut down every project dealing with neurology, the subconscious, or sleep research for the next 24 hours. She had also sent a company-wide memo requesting details of any nightmares on the previous night, to be sent to her before the day’s end, and had forwarded half of them to the sheriff for review.  

Jack had been relieved to see that, out of the 78 replies he read, three other staffers had dreamed about being naked in public. However, it was more disturbing to find that four people had dreamed about him, Jack, walking around nude. “We told them to report nightmares! Why is that a nightmare?” he mumbled under his breath. Nobody reported a dream involving Nathan Stark, headless or otherwise, in a basement or anywhere else.  

“So it was just the three of us,” Jack said. They had agreed to meet for dinner at Café Diem, all exhausted, but not eager to head home and go to bed.   

“Looks that way,” Allison agreed, pushing the last of her Gamberetti Risotto de Vincenzo around her plate with a fork. “Why us?”  

 “Makes sense,” Fargo observed. “You were the most important person in his life, Dr. Blake, and Sheriff Carter and I were there when he—when it happened.”  

“So, if it wasn’t an isolated incident, I hope it had something to do with the experiments I shut down today. I guess the only thing we can do at this point is go home, go to sleep, and hope it doesn’t happen again.” Allison sighed.   

“Or maybe we could just never sleep again,”said Fargo mournfully, staring into the remains of his meatloaf.  

Too tired for more conversation, they split up, agreeing to call if they dreamed anything similar, and reluctantly headed for their separate beds.    

Jack’s phone rang at 4:00 a.m. He was already awake.  

“Allison?”  

“Same dream.”  

“Me too. Shit. Hang on, I’ve got a call on the other line. Want to bet it’s Fargo?” 

“Oh, damn, that’s my GD alarm tone. Hang on.”  

“Sheriff? It’s me, I mean, Fargo.”   

“Of course it is. Same dream?”  

“You too?”  

“Me and Allison. How do I conference her in again?”  

“Hang on. Oh God, I’ve got an alarm coming in from GD.”  

Jack pressed a button. “Ally? You there? Ally?”  

“Jack.” Her voice was tight and scared. “Meet me at GD right away. There’s an alarm going off, and it’s in the sub-basement.”    

They were met by a full security team at the doors of GD. “Sorry to call you in, Dr. Blake, but this section of the sub-basement is below Section 5, so we can’t access it without your authorization. It’s probably just a malfunction.”   

“Thanks.” She turned to Fargo, pretending not to notice that he was twitching. “Can you figure out what’s supposed to be in there?”   

Fargo had been poking at his PDA. “Um, okay, wait—here it is. Just st-st-storage, nothing active. Some stuff decommissioned from Dr. Suenos’ lab when he left, and the mainframe Dr. Kaynes was using on that chrono-neurologic synergy project before she died. According to the records, this room hasn’t been opened in the past year and a half.”   

Jack’s right hand rested on his gun as he watched Allison punch in the code. Pretending not to notice she was shivering, he reached out to put his left hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met, and she nodded.  

“All right, let’s check this malfunction or whatever it is.” The security team’s chief stepped forward and pushed the heavy metal door open. The smell that came out was musty and a little acrid.   

“There ought to be a light switch over here…” Suddenly the room was bright. Gray bare walls, crates and boxes neatly stacked. Jack scanned the space. In the shadows near the far wall something lay, dark and crumpled, on the cement floor.  

“Oh God, I hope that’s not a body,” Jack muttered. Suddenly it moved.  

“NATHAN!!!” shrieked Allison. She raced across the room, and knelt beside the shape. As Jack got closer, he realized that the form on the floor was indeed Nathan Stark, wearing the dark suit he’d put on for his wedding. His skin was grayish, but his eyelashes fluttered and he moved his lips as if trying to speak. Allison’s fingers were moving across his skin, her medical training taking over.  

“He’s severely dehydrated,” she said, looking up, unaware of the tears on her cheek. “We need to get him up to the infirmary, now!” Jack heard a thump behind him, and turned to see Fargo’s body slumped on the floor.   

“Him, too.” He gestured to a security guard, who slung Fargo over his shoulder, while two others carefully picked up what was apparently the late Nathan Stark. Allison turned to him, and he caught her just as her knees went out from under. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.   

“This better not be another goddamned dream, Carter,” she mumbled.     

 

It was another day before Nathan Stark was able to speak coherently. Allison wasn’t particularly coherent herself, since she had refused to leave his side and had barely slept or eaten. Jo had agreed to take Jack’s shift, in return for two weekend days off, and he had gotten a blissful eighteen hours of dreamless sleep before he was summoned to the Global Dynamics infirmary.  

“Good to see you, Carter,” said the pale, drawn, yet undeniably cheerful figure in the bed. Carter moved to his side. “Took you long enough.”  

“Don’t say that,” Jack replied. Allison was snoring lightly in a chair on the other side of the bed, her head resting next to Stark’s side, their hands entwined on his chest. “Um, what the hell happened? I’m glad you’re not dead, but I was there. I mean, I saw you disappear into a bunch of shiny little particles.” He sat down heavily in the other chair.   

“Damned if I know,” Stark said, shrugging. “I remember telling you to take care of Ally, I remember putting in the codes, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor in that basement with the worst headache ever. Thought I was in hell.” He gave a weak smile.  

Jack laughed. “Saved the universe, and you still thought you wound up in hell? That’s sad, Stark, just plain sad.”   

“Didn’t feel like heaven,” Stark replied. “After a while I realized I wasn’t dead, and then I figured out nobody knew where I was. Ally says I—well, did whatever I did that wasn’t dying—three weeks ago. Physically, the doctors say I look like I was down there about three days.”  

“That makes no sense at all. Very Eureka.” Jack shook his head. “It’s a good thing we found you when we did.” 

Stark gestured toward the bedside table. Carter found the cup and gently placed the bent straw into Stark’s mouth.   “Thought if anyone did, it would be you,” Stark continued. “I was in and out of consciousness, had a lot of weird dreams. In one of them you found me, but you were naked. I don’t know what the hell’s up with that.” Jack shuddered.  

The scientist grinned. “Fargo’s totally shell-shocked. He didn’t really believe it was me until I yelled at him, and then he cried.” He paused. “He’s a good man.”  

A blonde doctor entered the room and moved to Nathan’s side. “Dr. Stark, you need to rest. A lot of people want to run tests on you, but I’m not letting them until you’re in decent shape again.” She turned to Carter. “Sheriff, I hope your visit is just about finished?”  

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get out of your way.” He looked at Stark and couldn’t help smiling. It had been a surprise, how much he’d missed the irascible, irritating scientist, how glad he was to have him back. “You get well, so they can poke you with needles.”  

“Oh, that’s motivation,” came the snarky response. “Hey Carter…thanks.”   

“Sleep well,” the Sheriff answered. “Pleasant dreams.”


End file.
